The Adventure of the Rival Detective
by VHunter07
Summary: A rookie detective begs Holmes to help him on a difficult illustrious case. But is there more to this matter than what meets the eye? CHAPTER 2 UP! COMPLETE! R&R!
1. Rookies & Royalty

**Ok, this is my first pastiche. Not, verse but a regular story. This is part 1 & part two should follow in a day or two. It's complete, I just have to type it up. I know it's not extremely exciting but PLEASE let me know what you think!!! R&R! **

**Thanks!**

** "The Adventure of The Rival Detective"**

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One chilly October morning, just as Holmes and I sat down to breakfast, there came to our flat a visitor. At the command of my friend, Mrs. Hudson bade him enter despite the early our. He was a middle-aged man, with blondish hair and a clean shaven, honest face.

"I'm so very sorry to burst in on you gentlemen so frightfully early, but I am in desperate need of your help, Mr. Holmes." he said.

My friend relocated himself to his usual 'client-taking' chair before the fire, and offered the man the seat across. The poor fellow seemed quite beside himself, and rather unsure how to begin.

"My name is Cummings, Randall Cummings sir, I work out of my flat in Queen Street as a...a...well sir..."

"Do get to the point Mr. Cummings, please." Holmes interrupted impatiently.

"Well, that is I work as a private detective sir. Of course, I am nothing compared to yourself sir! In fact I consider you my mentor."

If Holmes was flattered by the comment he did not show it. He merely signed deeply as if bored to death by the entire conversation.

"But, I do actually have a few solved enigmas to my humble name. But as to the reason for my visit: no doubt you've heard of the Countess Eliza McFain? The widow of Count Cedric?"

We both admitted to a limited knowledge of these aristocrats.

"Well, then certainly you've heard the tragic story of their short-lived marriage, how only five years after their son John was born, the Count was killed in a hunting accident in Sussex. Leaving his vast fortune to his young widow. Yes well, that was approximately twenty years ago. The Countess has never remarried though eligible she is. She was extremely devoted to her husband. Actually sir, it's her son that is the cause of all this disruption. Disappeared he has sir! The lad is nearly twenty-six. Lately he's been rather cut up about losing his betrothed to another, some argument about gambling. He is a bit of a high-spirited fellow, well liked by most, spoiled something terrible by his mother. Spends quite a lot of his time at the races and such. Some say the only reason he was sorry to lose his fiance was because he cannot receive his inheritance until he is 'respectably' married."

"I am not interested in gossip Mr Cummings, please relate the boys' vanishing as it happened, sparing no detail, no matter how infinitesimal."

The poor man sputtered a bit before continuing. Holmes was being rather more short-tempered than usual.

"Yes, er, as I was saying, he's been rather disturbed of late. But his mother thought he was doing a little better. He left Tuesday afternoon at about 2:15pm, to keep an appointment with me that he'd set up for 2:30pm. Yet, I've not the faintest notion of why he wished to see me. I never had a chance to find out. Anyhow he did not arrive at the designated time. I went over Wednesday morning to see whatever has become of him. As clients are fairly sparse at the moment, I did not want to lose so estimable a prospect. To my utter dismay, the Countess had not seen her son since Monday night at dinner. She had felt slightly ill, and had not come down from her room until late the next day. The butler was the last to see him, having helped him with his coat. He said that John had been in a terrible hurry, that he continually exclaimed, 'Quick man! I shall be late!' And that was the last he was seen or heard of. Once the Countess McFain discovered that I was a private detective, she hired me on the spot. I went to work on the problem straight away.

I walked back to my residence, checking how long it took walking. Then with a cab, at break-neck speed, I managed to cut the time in half. Along the walkway, outside my flat, I discovered two cigarette stubs. One on the actual pavement, the other rather under the bushes aside. Well, Mr. Holmes, I again must confess to being guilty of a bit of mimicry. As I said before, I've thoroughly studied your methods, therefore I observed that these stubs were of the same mixture. I checked with John McFains' valet, and found that it was, in fact, the special mixture the lad himself took! I counted myself fortunate indeed! What a clue! For now I could be certain that young McFain had come that way.

I questioned the maid at my flat and what a strange tale she had sir! It seems she'd been sweeping up the foyer Tuesday afternoon, at a little before three, so she says, when a dark young man...whom she'd never before seen!...rushed through the door, and ran straight for the parlor. She darted directly after him, but when she entered the room, he wasn't there sir! There were muddy footprints across the carpet, leading to the bay window. But the man had vanished.

Now sirs, I myself went over the ground beneath the window, as well as the entire garden behind the house, with a fine-toothed comb, there was not a single print!

Countess McFain gave me absolute 'Carte Blanc', so I purchased the finest print taking kit that money could buy. Even so, I could get nothing workable from the muddy footprints in the parlor.

Mr. Holmes, I admit to being completely at my wits' end! Please say you will help me sir?!"

I must say I felt truly sorry for the poor man. I did hope that Holmes would assist him in his strange predicament. But my friends' dark countenance did not seem promising. He sat in morose silence, staring intently into the glowing fire. Finally Mr. Cummings was moved to speak.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes stirred suddenly and looked about as if recalling where he was.

"Yes, Mr. Cummings. I shall be glad to look into this matter of yours. It seems it is rather out of your sphere."

The client was too relieved to be offended.

"Oh thank you so much sir! Perhaps you could come down this afternoon?"

"No, no, at the moment there are a few other pressing matters that require my immediate attention. I must see to these foremost. But, come again, here, tomorrow at precisely 4:00pm, and we may discuss this case of yours to a greater extent."

"Yes sir, I'll be here, if you're sure you cannot come sooner? No? Very well, I will see you both at 4. Good morning, and thank you."

When the good Mr. Cummings has completed his departure I questioned Holmes as to what he made of the matter.

"Interesting. Watson, I shall be going out presently. I will in all probability not return until late, do not bother to wait up for me. Good morning!"

And with that vague announcement, I was left to my own devices and a cold breakfast.


	2. Cigarettes & Pocket Watches

Alrighty here's part 2. Sorry it took so long. I was just so busy reading all the great stories on here that I didn't have time to finish my own! Anyway, I own nothing but Mr. Cummings, whom I don't give a hang about.

Please R&R! Thanks.

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**"The Adventure of The Rival Detective"**

**Part 2**

I awoke early the next morning fully expecting Holmes to have arrived during the night, and be awaiting my anxious ears into which he might pour the tale of his evening. To my surprise, and Mrs. Hudsons' dismay, he had not returned. Or if he had, he must have left again exceedingly early. Our brief inspection of his bedroom disproved the latter theory. This not being terribly abnormal, I continued to my breakfast.

That afternoon, at the previously appointed time, Randall Cummings arrived for his second interview. Holmes had yet to return.

"Well Mr. Cummings," said I. " How goes your investigation? Any new breakthroughs?"

He shook his head sadly.

"Nothing too definite sir. Though I've not been idle I assure you! I had a terrible thought yesterday after I left here. And not wanting to cause any public uproar over the incident, I spoke to the Countess at once about having the river dragged."

"Why Cummings! Don't you think that was rather abrupt? The poor woman!"

"Well sir," he answered meekly. "I thought it better that she be introduced to the dreadful possibility by myself than by a London paperboy. I told her that with some special equipment, and some discrete assistance, I could do a sufficient job of it myself without involving the official force. Of course, I informed her that Scotland Yard could, in all probability do a better job, at no cost to Her Grace. And the equipment I would need was rather costly, but she insisted. Alas, I thoroughly searched over the entire stretch of the river. From it's nearest point to my lodgings, since we know he at least came that far, all the way to the dam. I found no body, but you'll not believe what I did find sir!"

I leaned forward in anticipation as he dug from his breast pocket a small parcel.

"This!"

He pulled from the wrapping a battered gold pocket watch and chain. I took the item from his outstretched palm. There was a good deal of water under the glass, the minute hand has broken away and was floating about. On the back of the watch, amid many newly acquired scratches and dents, were the characters: 'J. McFain'. There was no doubt as to whom this watch had belonged.

"What a terrible tragedy. It seems he's not to be found alive then. Have you told the Countess of this recent finding?"

He did not reply, for just as I returned the item to it's locator, Sherlock Holmes burst through the sitting room door. Without a word to his astonished guest or myself, he went directly to his room, slamming the door behind.

We exchanged bewildered glances and I made an attempt at an explanation, but before I finished, Holmes returned.

"I hope I did not seem to terribly discourteous, but having been out all night, I was rather anxious to acquire some dry clothing."

"Out all night Mr. Holmes? Whatever were you doing?"

"Oh this and that...now tell me all that has transpired in the twenty-eight hours since out last meeting?", Holmes replied as he took his chair near the fire.

Cummings proceeded to recount all he had told me previously. When he finished, my friend responded with a slight smile.

"It is all just as I expected. Thank you Mr. Cummings, you have confirmed my earlier suspicions."

"You mean you thought all along it was a suicide, Holmes?"

"Then why the running through the house, Mr. Holmes? And why the appointment with me? It is all still so confusing to my thinking."

"It would seem to be one of two possibilities. In the event that it was a suicide, Mr. McFain wished for someone to take the blame for his death. In which case, the running through your landladys' parlor was obviously to give the impression that he was being pursued by the said scapegoat. Or, it was in fact, murder. Perhaps he truly was being pursued and was soon caught. Of course, we must take into consideration the fact that after he hid from the maid by standing on the outside window frame, he crept back inside the house and up to your rooms where the remains of the clothes he was last seen in were found in your fire grate last night. Tell me Mr. Cummings, have you any proof of your whereabouts Tuesday afternoon?"

Cummings leapt from his chair, knocking it over in his haste.

"Surely you don't suspect me, Mr. Holmes!? Why I didn't even know the man! It's positively absurd! What motive could I possibly have?"

"What motive?", Holmes said, rising to meet him. "What more motive could you ask? To receive free reign with the Countess' money! You said yourself she gave you absolute 'Carte Blanc' did you not? In searching your flat last evening, I found none of the equipment which you claimed to purchase."

"I left it all with the Countess, as it was technically her own property!"

"You did no such thing, I asked her. She'd seen nothing of it since her money passed into your hands. No, there was no equipment, but the money was all there in your safe. Two cheques made out to Randall Cummings by Countess McFain. I'm sure it was quite simple. Having no male relative to question your credibility, no one to protect the Countess in her naivety. It was really extraordinarily easy, was it not?"

Cummings was visibly petrified, for he shouted like a madman.

"You're mad! Why, I never heard of such a thing! I come to you for help and you have the audacity to accuse me?! I will not stand here and be threatened!"

Making good his word, the man made a beeline for the door. Before he so much as touched the handle, Holmes was there, barring the way. Cummings stared at him like a caged animal.

"I withdraw my accusation Mr. Cummings. Or rather I alter it. You did not kill John McFain. It would have been impossible for you to have done so, because you are McFain!"

Holmes reached out and grabbed at the mans' face. When Cummings jerked away, part of his nose remained on Holmes' fingers.

"I commend you Mr. McFain on your expert face contortion. But of course, you must admit that Watson and I having never before see you, and your mothers' exceedingly near-sightedness was to your immense advantage was it not?"

Scarely did Holmes complete his sentence before Cummings..er...McFain threw himself at him with a vicious scream of rage. In their struggle I saw the flash of a knife just before the poker in my hand connected with McFains' skull.

He ceased to fight as the weapon slipped from his grasp. Holmes pushed him off, went to the window and signaled to someone in the street. Within moments Inspector Lestrade and two of his sturdiest constables were carrying McFain away. He awoke struggling half way down the stairs and made the rest of the trip on his backside, swearing vengence all the way.

Once we had seen our visitors out, I turned to my friend.

"Holmes, why did you accuse McFain of murdering himself? What was the point of making him think that you thought him to be the perpertrator of a crime that had not been committed?"

He returned to his armchair and lit his cherrywood before answering.

"I'm afraid it was for an absurdly simple reason. I only wished to see his reaction. I knew his true identity, and was curious to see what he would do when confronted with the guilt of an impossible crime. It was apparent that in his elaborate plans that little possibility did not occur to him. Of course, if he had been the detective he claimed to be, he would have disclosed the gaping fallacy in my little murder theory. It was impossible for John McFain to have been chased down so busy a thoroughfare as Queen Street and yet not be seen by someone. Yet each street vender was questioned thoroughly and nothing was seen."

"Then his motive all along was to steal from his mother?"

"In my inquiries I discovered all that he told us about himself was true. No doubt, he could not find any decent woman to wed him, considering his gambling ways. Thus he resorted to deceit and trickery to come by his heritance. A sad waste of his talents, surely."

"But why involve you? Certainly that was tempting discovery."

"I could not answer that Watson. Perhaps he thought that in the event the Countess balked at further spending, my name would serve as a goad. Or perhaps it was a test of his genius. If I could not uncover his treachery, he could consider himself immune to exposure. It was a fairly well constructed plan. He rushed through the house as McFain, adding credibility to his claims through the maid. A story by two is certainly more believed than by one. I found that he had been actually living in Queen Street as Randall Cummings, private detective, for nearly four months now, and did, in fact, receive several clients. Thus his investigation into his own disappearance appeared quite legitimate. A pity, had he not put his abilities to such ill uses he might have proved a worthy rival."

"He certainly had made a fair study of your methods. The cigarette ash was quite ingenious in my thinking. Such evidence is usually overlooked by the official force."

We sat in silence a moment, each lost in our own contemplation. Suddenly another thought occurred to me.

"But Holmes," I said. " Whatever caused you to question his stories' validity in the first place?"

Holmes laughed silently and blew out a thin stream of smoke as he replied.

"My dear Watson, there are an infinite amount of strange coincidences in life. But never, never will one walk along and find only two cigarette stubs on a street."

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